Only the Dead and Dying
by KodiakWolfe13
Summary: Reapers can only be seen by the dead and dying. Jason doesn't know this, and he wonders if the woman he sees is nothing more than a hallucination. (Takes place after Jason is beaten by the Joker.)(One-shot.)
**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the tears that I certainly am not crying right now. Recommended playlist: Already Over by RED. Just play it again and again, if you have to... (*sobs* Jason...)**

* * *

"…anyway, be a good boy, finish your homework, and be in bed by nine. And hey! Please tell the big man I said _hello_."

The door fell shut with a loud _bang._ It echoed off the walls of the warehouse, hardly dimmed by the boxes stacked all around the area. Nothing inside the large complex stirred, which wasn't too much of a surprise. Most of the objects were simply pieces of junk being stored inside the walls. None of that made a difference to the echoing sounds; they faded slowly, dying off in due time. And with the quiet settled firmly in place, Jason Todd's green-blue eyes opened for the first time in an immeasurable amount of time.

The ebony-haired teen wasted no time. He rolled onto his back, ignoring the pain shooting up and down through his limbs and torso. After mustering up strength he hadn't known he had, Jason kicked him shattered legs up and over his head, an obvious moan resounding from his busted lips. The vertebra in his back popped and groaned under the treatment, but it hardly made a blimp on Jason's radar. There were other, graver wounds that were aching and sending sharp, stabbing pains through his limbs that were far more consuming than the simplest of protests from his bones.

From his crouched position on the ground, Jason carefully stepped over the handcuffs clasped tightly over his wrists. Quickly following that, the teen pushed himself up and off the ground, coming to a stand. Jason's shoulders slouched, his chest heaving from the small exertion he'd put himself through. The teen wavered in his stance; falling forward, catching himself, falling forward. However, the teen managed to keep himself standing and on his feet, which was a feat in itself. The boy's green and yellow cape wrapped around his battered frame, providing a sense of safety and comfort. The feeling had all but abandoned the boy when the Joker had captured him; the suit had done nothing for him at the time. Now, Jason felt the smallest bit stronger. With that in mind, the teen took a shaky step forward.

Unfortunately, Jason's legs gave out under him, and he met the ground with dull _thud_.

Stabbing pain ran through his body again as a quiet but strangled cry left the boy's mouth. That wasn't the worst of it, though; despair swept over Jason in a tidal wave, crushing his chest far worse than any hit Joker had made with the crowbar. For a single, split second, Jason hardly even breathed. His one good eye misted over for a mere moment, but then the stubborn, hard-headed protege of the Dark-Knight threw all those feelings away, discarding them for a time when he wasn't so caught up in escaping.

Determination flushed out his overwhelming desperation, and Jason pushed himself onto his elbows. Rough panting fell between his lips in a desperate attempt to get air into the boy's lungs, but only trace amounts ever seemed to make it into his windpipe. Jason chose to ignore it as he pushed his arms forward, pulling the rest of his body with them. And then he repeated the action again. And again and again and again.

Slowly but surely, Jason dragged himself from the middle of the massive warehouse to the door the Joker had left through. His efforts came with a cost, however; the only thing Jason felt as he crawled was the everlasting pain and misery he felt as he tried his damn hardest to reach the other side of the room. The sweat dripping down his face, the cold, tiled floor beneath him, and the chaffing handcuffs were drowned out by the agony Jason put himself through to get out, escape, find help. Even his throat, which seared from his never-ending wheezing, was nothing more than an afterthought to his broken bones, bleeding gashes, and the other internal issues plaguing him.

A long streak of crimson followed the teen across the floor, which led back to the pool of thick, sticky blood Jason had bled upon the floor as he played possum for the Joker. The teen didn't even notice the trail as he finally reached the door after what felt like centuries of crawling like a pathetic child. Gasping faintly, Jason pushed himself up, reaching high above his head for the doorknob. His fingers found the cool metal, and they wrapped around it weakly. The ebony-haired boy tugged and tugged, but the door refused to open. On the other side, the sound of jingling metal barely managed to reach Jason's ears.

Joker had locked the entrance to the warehouse. The teen could only hope his mentor would find him soon and save him from bleeding out all over the icy floor.

Jason's hand released the knob, and he slid back to the cold tile. He managed to flip himself over, at least, to rest against the frigid, iron door. His panting breath splintered and strained as his ribs burst into flames, one hand coming to rest on the infero. The boy's head rose to stare at the ceiling for a moment before it fell back to the warehouse scenery around him, the burning , fortunately, dulling to a simmer.

For a moment, Jason wondered if he was hallucinating. He wanted to call out, but his ability to speak had long since been lost, drowned out by Joker's crowbar and maniacal laughter.

There, where the pool of his blood lay drying, was a woman. She looked to be about twenty, dressed in nothing but a simple, black dress. Her dark hair framed her lovely face and fell just below her shoulders, curled ever-so-slightly in at the ends. Hazel eyes emitted nothing but calm serenity, and her thin lips were curled into a friendly sort of smile, though it was also made obvious that the woman was hiding something. The woman stood patiently, as if waiting for Jason's attention but hardly making a move to catch it herself.

Upon the teen seeing her, the woman began stepping forward. Her black flats fell into the thick pool of blood, but the crimson liquid refused to ripple at her touch, as if she wasn't there at all. The woman continued forward, as if unaware of the gore surrounding her; it seemed her entire focus was on Jason's limp form. She continued forward, and the boy was confused to see that no bloody footprints were left behind where she stepped.

Closer and closer, the woman padded closer. Jason felt his nerves stand on end, and his legs weakly pushed him further into the freezing door behind him. The woman either didn't notice Jason's unease or simply didn't care, for her steps never wavered, never hesitated. Her friendly but secretive smile never faltered, either, and her eyes refused to show anything other than the calm, almost motherly look caught in them.

The dark-haired woman stopped as she came upon Jason's anxious form. She paused for a moment and then bent down, kneeling in front of him. With a pale hand, she reached out and laid her palm on the boy's shoulder. He was startled by the chill her hand emitted, penetrating the bodysuit designed to resist such cold temperatures.

But then, that might just be the blood-loss. Jason wasn't sure.

Silently, the woman looked to the side, her smile wavering for the first time into a solemn frown. Jason's heart jumped into his chest, wondering what could bother this woman so, and his head swiveled around to find whatever it was that was bugging her.

 **9… 8…**

Jason's eyes bugged at the massive bomb and its place in its countdown, his blue-green orbs misting over with unshed tears. His breathe caught in his throat as the familiar crash of desperation and hopelessness hit him all over again, hitting him hard enough to feel like he'd been hit with the Batmobile as it drove at its highest speed. All the pain he'd been so aware of for who-knew-how-long now faded to the background as the weight of the situation dangled over his head. It all flew through him in mere seconds, and realization had him catching his breath again.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing Bruce could do. And, oh God, he was _gonna_ die. Jason didn't want to. There were things he needed to say, things he needed to accomplish, to find out about himself. And it sure as hell was gonna _hurt_ , wasn't it? He was gonna die by a _fucking explosion_ , and _nononono_ , he couldn't go out like _this_! He couldn't! _Oh God, oh God, oh God-!_

 **6… 5…**

The dark-haired woman was suddenly at his side, one hand still on his shoulder while the other combed through the boy's sweat-soaked hair. Her smile had become nothing but solemn now, her friendly look faded away now that Jason knew what was going to happen within seconds. She still radiated calm, though, and the boy wondered how that was, when she was going to die too.

Softly, the woman whispered, " _Shh_ , it's going to be ok, Jason. It's all going to be ok."

The despair drained away, leaving Jason resigned and simply sad. The tears blurred his vision, but the boy welcomed it. He didn't want to see the red numbers counting down anyway…

"It's going to be fine, Jason. You're going to fine."

 **3… 2…**

 _I'm sorry, Bruce. I forgive you for not saving me._

 **1.**

There was burning, scorching heat, and agony. It engulfed the boy from all sides, and a few seconds felt like an unbearable few centuries. If he could've, Jason would've screamed, but he wasn't even allowed that. Light blinded him from all sides, all but searing his eyes. All previous wounds suddenly seemed like something as superficial as a paper-cut.

But then it was gone, all of it. There was nothing left, and Jason knew nothing except a fading whisper in his ear, telling him everything was going to be ok. It was all going to be ok.

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 **This remains the only movie and comic that can make me burst into tears. Reapers, why'd you have to take Jason away, huh?! WHY, WHY, WHY? T.T**


End file.
